


The Surprise of No One

by jockohomo



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Compliant, First Meetings, M/M, Pre-Canon, higuchi is repressed, liberal use of shipping tags, this barely qualifies as ship fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:27:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22729888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jockohomo/pseuds/jockohomo
Summary: Hatori introduces Higuchi to a new colleague. Higuchi copes (poorly).
Relationships: Higuchi Kyousuke/Shimura Suguru, implied Hatori Arayoshi/Shimura Suguru, mentioned Yotsuba Dainosuke/Namikawa Reiji
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	The Surprise of No One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teethrotter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teethrotter/gifts).



> this is a valentine's day fic for my wonderful s/o! ironic, since it really isn't romantic at all. you get what you ask for, though.
> 
> content warning for alcohol use, sexual references, imaginary violence, some mildly homophobic stuff, and also some mildly unsanitary stuff. also, um, namikawa is having an affair with hatori's dad. this is the most awkward fic ever.

Higuchi Kyosuke had accumulated a number of unfortunate habits over the years — he ground his teeth, he cursed too much, he berated his colleagues to their faces and assumed it would never come back to bite him in the ass, he drank when he got upset. Perhaps the most damning was less of a habit and more of a routine.

Almost every week, Higuchi found himself spending Friday evening drinking with Namikawa Reiji and Hatori Arayoshi, who had accomplished the gargantuan feat of becoming Higuchi fucking Kyosuke’s _most hated_ coworkers. If you asked him _why_ he felt the need to keep himself in their company, you would probably get some harsh words rather than a direct answer, because there truly wasn’t one, unless you operated under the assumption that he was some sort of masochist. The trio’s fathers had worked together for years, and truth be told, that was their incentive to socialize with each other in the first place — but then, after a while, Higuchi could have pulled himself out, could have made other plans. 

But he _didn’t_. No, he allowed it to go on, and almost every Friday he would find himself hunched over in some high-end bar, listening to Hatori’s too-loud laugh and whatever lilting mockery Namikawa was spewing that particular night. And worse, he ended up driving the two of them home more often than not, because like hell he was leaving his _very nice_ _car_ downtown overnight. Like fucking _hell_.

So the cycle continued — until one afternoon, Higuchi stepped out of the elevator to the main lobby and found Hatori waiting for him, with neither hide nor hair of their taller, smugger associate.

Hatori’s eyes had been anxiously examining his watch, but he glanced up as soon as Higuchi stepped toward him and smiled as if the arrangement was something to look forward to and not a goddamn farce. 

“Higuchi!” he exclaimed, and Higuchi could envision the other employees looking at them, wishing Yotsuba’s favorite nepotist would learn some damn volume control. “Thank god you’re here. Namikawa’s out sick today. I’ve been waiting.”

“Namikawa? Sick? And here, he had me thinking he was _above_ the rest of us.” Higuchi scowled. “Whatever. Fine by me. I’ll see you Monday, then.”

“Oh — ” Hatori raised a finger. “Actually, I was hoping you’d still come. I asked someone else to join us.”

Higuchi lowered his voice. “I swear to god, Hatori, if you invited Kida again — ”

“No! No, no, of course not.” Hatori opened his palms placatingly and shot Higuchi a sheepish grin. “Not after last time, I’m not that dumb. Actually, um, we just got a new Head of Personnel, right? I’ve been talking to the guy some. He’s nice. I wasn’t sure if you had met yet, so I figured…”

Higuchi crossed his arms. Yes, as a matter of fact, he did remember that they’d hired a new Personnel guy, but he couldn’t recall meeting him — his name was Nakamura, Satomura, _Shimura_ , it was Shimura. “If you really care so much, then sure, I’ll stick around. But I’m not driving.” Now it was his turn to look at his watch. “How long does this guy take to wrap up work, anyway?”

“I mean… He definitely doesn’t clock out early, but I told Shimura what time we’d probably be ready by, so it shouldn’t be long. He’s pretty punctual.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, there was a soft _ding_ and the elevator doors slid open. Hatori glanced toward them and Higuchi followed his gaze as a crowd of younger men — no one he recognized, certainly — began to spill through the opening and into the lobby. It was only after they had cleared out that their anticipated companion made his appearance from the back of the elevator.

Nothing about him was particularly stand-out; in fact, Higuchi never would have guessed that this was their man if he hadn’t immediately seen Hatori and broken into a smile. He wasn’t really tall (still taller than either of them, Higuchi noted with annoyance), but his shoulders were broad and his stride was faster than most businessmen Higuchi knew. He wasn’t ugly by any means, but he didn’t have the model’s features that Namikawa had — gracing his face were wide eyes, defined lips, a prominent nose, strong cheekbones, a long chin. His hair, though — it wasn’t a bad style, but it made him look like some sort of Beatles wannabe. Not that Higuchi was in any position to judge.

“Here he is!” Hatori exclaimed, grinning and clapping Namikawa’s replacement on the shoulder. “Shimura, this is Higuchi. He’s in charge of Development.” 

His eyes lingered on Hatori for just a second longer than they should have, then rested on Higuchi. Up close, Higuchi could make out a bit of sweat on his cheeks, some wrinkles at the fabric around his neck, hair ruffled just a bit; clearly, Shimura hadn’t enjoyed being stuck in an elevator full of other people. Still, he had the good graces to offer a quick bow and a murmured greeting.

“Do you mind driving, Shimura?” Hatori asked, hooking his thumbs into his pockets. “I think Higuchi is getting a bit tired of playing parent for me.” He laughed good-naturedly, and Higuchi was briefly consumed with the urge to throttle him.

“Me?” Shimura turned his attention back to Hatori, looking like he expected this about as much as a deer in the headlights. “I — no, I don’t mind. I’ll drive.”

Within the first few minutes of their journey to Higuchi’s first choice of bar, he realized that there was something distinctly _other_ about Shimura. Firstly, the Lexus he drove was most certainly manufactured in 2000, which was a few miles below Higuchi’s standard for cars because not only was it a _Lexus_ , it was an _outdated_ Lexus (never mind the fact that it was still 2002). Secondly, when Higuchi asked him about his car — a tragic attempt to spark conversation on his part — all he had to say about it was that it was reliable, and Higuchi expected a man to have a good deal more than that to say about his car. Thirdly, when Hatori talked about the cocktail party he was planning for next month, he looked a bit bewildered about the whole thing, as if he hadn’t been to a million and one near-identical dinner parties in his life. Fourthly, when Hatori talked _at all_ , he actually seemed to listen. Fifthly, he had apparently never heard of the bar he was directed to take them to. Sixthly, and perhaps most damningly, he showed a shocking respect for traffic laws. 

He was better company than Namikawa, at least, but that wasn’t saying much. Namikawa wasn’t even _there_ and Higuchi still wanted to beat his pretty face until he had a couple of black eyes. 

The one downside to not having Namikawa there was that there was no one willing to tell Higuchi that his taste in venues was shit, so when his choice for the night turned out to be a bit too dark, a fair amount too busy, and _far_ too loud, there was no one to blame except himself because no one had said, “No, Higuchi, that place will be much too crowded this time of the week, let’s go somewhere a bit more discreet where I can describe my sexual escapades with Hatori’s father in more detail.” Why the hell had no one said that? Why had no one directed them to another bar? 

It wasn’t like Shimura knew anything about this place, but he at least could have said, “Hey, it’s a little too noisy in here, don’t you think? Let’s go to the gentlemen's club across the street,” because Higuchi wasn’t about to back down from his choice of location, and Hatori didn’t seem to give a shit one way or the other, so long as he had drinks and company. Then, what with the way Shimura was talking, he probably would rather cut off his foot than start an argument.

“Thanks for coming, by the way,” Higuchi muttered some amount of time into the night, after two glasses of a liquor that was perhaps a bit too hard to start the night off with. Hell, this was his one break from designated driving. Might as well make use of it. “You’re a hell of a lot better conversation than that nancy in sales.”

Shimura looked up from his drink, eyes wide. “That…?”

“Namikawa. I’m talking about Namikawa.”

“Oh.” Shimura didn’t smile, just shifted in his seat; Higuchi wondered if the two of them had had occasion to meet yet. “Thank you. I’m glad to be here.”

“No need to be so stiff. I’m not gonna bite you.” He waved a hand and turned his attention to Hatori. “What’s got him stuck at home, anyways?”

His glass clinked against the table and Hatori wiped specks of liquid from his lips. “Who, uh, Namikawa? Flu, I think. He didn’t even tell me himself, you know — Kida was talking about it at lunch, you know how he is with these things, he’s so… never mind. I just wish Namikawa would’ve given me some warning — not that’m upset, since he’s sick and all. I just hope _I_ don’t come down with it.”

“You won’t come down with jack shit.” Higuchi laughed, flashing a mouthful of sharp teeth. Shimura was looking at him strangely — for once, Higuchi wished that the other two hadn’t chosen to sit across from him. “I’ll bet it isn’t the flu. I’ll bet it isn’t contagious at _all_.”

Shimura leaned forward, just a bit. “What do you mean, Higuchi?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I forgot you’re new to this. Well, I bet your friend there knows what I mean.” He jerked a thumb at the shorter man. “C’mon, Hatori, it could just as well be crabs. Hell, could be syphilis.”

“Oh, come on, Higuchi.” He smiled uncomfortably. “That’s no way to talk about your colleagues.”

“You’ve heard worse. From _other people_.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Hatori brushed a displaced clump of pale hair behind his ear. “But still, Namikawa would probably be more careful than that.”

“Hatori, you just say that because your…” _because your dad is the one that would’ve given it to him. Either that or he’s sharing._ Higuchi was at least sober to stop himself from saying that much, though.

Hatori frowned quizzically. “Because my what?”

“Never mind.”

“No, really, what — ”

Shimura rested a hand on Hatori’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s probably not a big deal. Anyways, don’t you think this is a bit … um …”

Hatori glanced up at Shimura; his features immediately softened. “Yeah, you’re right. See, Shimura, this is why I invited you along. You’re good for me.” He punctuated the statement with a squeeze to his companion’s shoulder, a quiet laugh, and another sip of whatever froufrou thing he had been drinking. His movements had grown a bit sluggish.

He apparently didn’t catch the color that sprung to Shimura’s face as soon as his hand made contact, but Higuchi sure did. Higuchi also didn’t quite have the facilities on him at the moment to decipher its meaning.

“I hope you’re still good to drive, Shimura,” Higuchi muttered, leaning back in his chair, eyes half-closed. “It’s bad form to break promises.”

Shimura reddened further. Hatori set his drink down and said, “What promise?”

“Your word, then.”

“Seriously, what’re we talking about?”

“I — I need to go to the bathroom,” Shimura announced, clumsily pushing himself out of the booth and making his way down the aisle.

Hatori watched him go, humming the theme song from _Malcolm in the Middle_. Higuchi wasn’t nearly so jovial.

“So, about that cocktail party — ” Hatori finally began.

“I’ve gotta take a piss, too.” 

Higuchi shoved his feet down to the hardwood floor and took a moment to collect his bearings, blink a few times and let the room drift back into focus. Hey, he wasn’t _that_ drunk. He could feel Hatori’s gaze on him for all of two, three seconds, and innocuous as it was, it still felt like _scrutiny_ to Higuchi. He might’ve made a rude comment in the other man’s direction, but by the time he could be bothered to look at him, Hatori was already raising his glass to his lips. At least, he _hoped_ that was Hatori’s glass.

The farther back into the bar Higuchi traveled, the less populated it seemed to be. His chin was tilted decisively up, as if to say, “Yeah, bump into me and see what happens,” but firstly, he would probably be the one doing the bumping into; secondly, if someone _did_ bump into him, they weren’t the one who needed to be worried, since he was as thin as a toothpick and twice as easily snapped in half; and third, he had plenty of room to maneuver to the restroom without jostling against some _other_ drunken halfwit.

It was darker back there, too. Hell only knew why the staff here would mood light the pisser — maybe they had installed a gloryhole in the men’s restroom or some shit like that. But then, the music was quieter there as well. He could hear his own footfall, and something about that was unnerving after the din of the bar’s front end. 

Finally, after what seemed like ages, Higuchi reached the door. He was pretty sure it was the right one. The doorknob was oddly sticky under his hand; he made a mental note to chew out the next employee he saw and pushed the door open.

The interior of the room was almost assaulting in how white it was. Most of the bars Hatori chose had single bathrooms, wooden walls, phone numbers and political statements scrawled from the floor to the ceiling. In Higuchi’s top choice, however, he was practically standing in a smaller, cleaner version of the bathroom at a public mall. So clean, in fact, that the tiling immediately next to the door was slick from recent mopping.

Shimura was bent over one of the three sinks lined against the left wall, splashing water onto his face. He had removed his jacket at some earlier point in the night, left it abandoned at their shared booth, revealing the white button-up underneath. It fit him snugly; Higuchi could make out his biceps so well that it was almost uncomfortable. He recalled, vaguely, an offhand mention from Hatori that Shimura had played rugby at some point. Quite well, apparently.

“What’re _you_ doing?” Higuchi muttered, positioning himself in front of a urinal and exhaling lightly through his nose. “Doesn’t look like you’re pissing to me.”

He couldn’t see Shimura, but he could imagine the look on his face. There was a period of silence, and then the man in question responded, “I, uh. Just needed a moment.”

“Moment to do what?”

“I was washing my face off…”

“Didn’t seem too sweaty to me.”

“I’m, ah… not a huge fan of crowds. Or noise. I just needed a moment.”

Higuchi scoffed. “Fine, whatever.” He closed his eyes, sighed, and added, “You going to his cocktail party?”

“Probably.”

“Have you met his wife?”

“Yeah.”

“It must’ve been painful for you.” Higuchi heard Shimura inhale and opened his eyes, craning his neck back around to glance at the other man. Shimura had finished washing his face and turned to face Higuchi, face flushed and hands buried in his pockets. Before the bemused man could respond, Higuchi clarified, “Listening to the way he talks around her, you know. He’s annoying enough on his own — it’s like the bastard thinks he’s some sorta, some sorta, some sorta _comedian_. Even worse around her.”

Shimura’s eyes widened slightly. “Well, I … personally, I — I enjoy Hatori’s company…”

Ah. So _that_ was how it was. Higuchi’s expression darkened and he turned back away from Shimura. At some point, he had finished his business. “Figures _you_ would. I shoulda judged as much already, considering the way you two were sitting over there grinning at each other like a buncha, a buncha fuckin’ … _idiots_.”

It was silent except for the drip of the faucet. Finally, Shimura gave a tentative, “I…” before trailing off and falling helplessly quiet again.

“Yeah, yeah,” Higuchi muttered, tugging at his zipper. “Whatever.”

He paused. The damned thing was stuck.

“ _Fuck_.”

“Is — is something wrong?” Shimura asked, raising his voice just slightly in concern. He had moved over slightly, although Higuchi wasn’t sure when.

“Yeah, I — of _course_ it’s fine. My fly is just — dammit, why do you _care_? Mind your own business, you fucking — you fucking — ” Higuchi gritted his teeth. “ _Christ almighty_.”

With a final great tug, Higuchi was once again decent by standards of clothing. He turned on his heel, glared briefly at Shimura, and started towards the door.

He had forgotten the wet spot, and as soon as he arrived there he lost his footing.

The plight of a falling man is a particular one. Life seemed to be going by very slowly and very quickly all at once; first came the realization that he was, in fact, falling, then came the desperate hope that he could regain himself, then the anger that he couldn’t, then the sinking horror that he was about to bruise himself on the floor of a public restroom in front of his new colleague. All four of these took place almost instantaneously — a biting contradiction to the idea that the thought process of a man under the influence was significantly slowed. 

Before Higuchi could reach the fifth stage of grief, however, he was halted by a strong arm behind his back, a hand grasping him just below his shoulder. His feet scrabbled in place for a moment, and he looked over up time to see Shimura’s concerned face diagonal from his own.

_Damn, that’s a fast reaction time._

Luckily, Shimura didn’t hold the position for long. As soon as Higuchi’s heartbeat had a chance to slow, his feet were stable on the floor again, and Shimura had drawn back to stand at his side.

“Are you okay?”

Higuchi’s face warmed. “They oughtta put a sign there.”

His balance retrieved and his dignity vanished over the horizon, Higuchi returned to the table. Hatori had long since fallen asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> writing music was carried away by passion pit
> 
> https://sugurushimura.tumblr.com/


End file.
